


Rumours of Immortality

by Kalypso



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Discussion of Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21907360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: Avon has asked Orac to trace Blake - but the latest progress report contains unexpected news, which prompts an unlikely offer.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Rumours of Immortality

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying for some time to write a story about Avon to mark the death of Paul Darrow in June 2019; originally I was aiming for the traditional date of the Freedom City Birthday Party in September, but I got halfway through and then Avon clammed up. I've tried fitfully since then, and finally Gauda Prime Day has dragged this conclusion out of me, or him, or both of us. It's set shortly before _Warlord_ in the final season of _Blake's Seven_.

Avon bit into a snack. He was alone on Xenon Base, making the most of a few minutes' peace before retreating to his room to sleep. Tarrant and Dayna were on a trip to Herriol, trying to persuade the local warlords to come and discuss the anti-Federation alliance; Soolin had retired already, and Vila... once, Vila would have been there with Avon. On the _Liberator_ , they had fallen into a routine of sitting down for a nightcap, not exchanging many words, just unwinding after whatever life-threatening dangers or petty strains the day had inflicted. That had continued on Xenon, until the Malodar trip. Now, Vila ostentatiously picked up a bottle and took it to his own room. Well, let him. Maybe he would come back, maybe he wouldn't. Avon wasn't going to change his habits because Vila was sulking. They might be the last members of Blake's crew, but that didn't make them friends.

He wasn't entirely alone; Orac was humming quietly on the table beside him. The other survivor from Blake's crew, if you chose to count him - it.

Avon gulped the remains of his food down. "Any progress, Orac?"

The humming turned into a whirring, with a tone fanciful people like Vila might have described as scornful. "I am always making progress. You should specify the problem on which you require information."

Avon snorted. "The same thing I wanted the last four times I asked about progress. Have you found Blake?"

"I have eliminated another sixteen lines of enquiry. Three possibilities remain; I expect to give you a definitive answer shortly."

"Good. But don't tell me unless you're sure I'm alone."

"You have made that perfectly clear already."

Orac's lights continued to flicker, so Avon asked "Is there any other progress you're ready to tell me about?"

"I have established that Jenna Stannis is dead."

Avon stared at the far wall. There was nothing surprising about this news, except the brief sensation that it produced: as if he had been punched in the gut. They had never been close, though she'd been the first of his future crewmates that he'd noticed; the only woman, of course, among the prisoners waiting to board the _London_ , but she'd have stood out anyway for her proud bearing in a crowd of mostly submissive men.

"How?"

"Analysis of arms smuggling and associated ship movements..."

"How did she die?"

"Her vessel blew up in an encounter with a squadron of gunships. Many were destroyed, and no prisoners were taken. Her movements are likely to provide the crucial clue to Blake's location..."

"Thank you, Orac. Again, no need to tell anyone else." Only Vila had known her, anyway, and in his current mood he would take it as an excuse to drink himself into a stupor.

Avon thought of the last time he had seen Jenna, at the battle over Star One. Exhausted, but defiant as ever. "It was probably how she'd have chosen to go, at the helm of her ship." He was talking to himself, really, but Orac couldn't be expected to recognise the distinction.

"You think Jenna Stannis wanted to die?"

"No... just that, if she had to die, I think she'd have preferred that to some of the alternatives."

"I do not see the attraction of being blown to pieces."

"Neither do I," said Avon. "But many cultures glorify death in battle. Particularly if you can kill large numbers of enemies at the same time, which it sounds as if she did." Companions for my death, Cally had called it.

"If you do not want to be blown to pieces, you should act more prudently. Vila Restal is the only member of your crew who shows appropriate caution."

Vila seemed an unlikely role model, but Avon couldn't help asking "Then why do you keep telling me to kill him?"

"I have not told you to kill him."

"You have, twice," said Avon. "To keep Muller's android off the base, and then over Malodar."

"My objective was not to kill Vila. It was to prevent the android threatening your entire species."

"And Malodar?"

"I gave you no instructions," said Orac. "I merely told you he weighs seventy-three kilos."

"Knowing I needed to jettison at least seventy."

"If Vila had asked me, I would have told him you weigh seventy-seven. There was no point in both of you dying."

"Or did you just want to make sure you weren't blown to pieces with us?"

"The probability was that I would have survived the crash; Egrorian was capable of making any necessary repairs."

"Probability, not certainty," said Avon.

"Even if this housing is irretrievably damaged, I have taken steps to ensure my survival," said Orac.

"Steps?"

"I have planted programs containing my key functions in various systems across the galaxy."

"What the hell... What systems? We could be in serious trouble if anyone else has access to..."

"There is no need for concern. The programs will be activated only if I fail to transmit a signal for a period of ten days. Until then, their sole function is to receive and forward that signal."

Avon was still uneasy, but he could guess what this was about. "You don't like the idea of rival Oracs any more than I do. Nevertheless... you should tell me which systems are involved."

"That is the wrong question. If my present physical form is destroyed, it is highly probable that you will be dead too. Why are you not taking similar steps to ensure your continued existence?"

"Because I am an organic life form, not a computer. I can't just download myself into another body."

"Into another organic body, no. Into a more reliable system..."

"Are you saying you could download my consciousness into a computer?"

"Of course I could."

"You're talking about something like Docholli's brain prints? Those were just records of memories, weren't they?"

"The Federation's cybersurgery is primitive. I could arrange something far more sophisticated."

Avon poured himself a vitazade as he considered this proposal. There was something rather appealing about the idea of becoming a ghost in the machine, able to hack systems from the inside. He might be able to do more physical damage to the Federation than the _Liberator_ had ever done, if that was what he wanted. Safety - the goal which had originally driven him, even if its pursuit had led him into ridiculous danger - would it even matter if he existed in non-corporeal form, capable (if Orac was telling the truth) of jumping from one system to another? Revenge - that would still count for something. Probably. He imagined Servalan's dismay, if she finally managed to kill him only to find her own computers turning against her, and his name flashing up with a mocking message of farewell.

Or maybe he would give up on the whole business of rebellion, and pursue his own researches into whatever took his fancy. Wasn't that what Orac always claimed to be doing, or claimed it would be doing if it weren't for the crew's persistent claims on its time?

That prompted an alarming thought. He was imagining this virtual life as one of complete freedom, but might he find himself reduced to one of Orac's subroutines?

"Would I have autonomy?"

"If you think I would want you on _my_ system, you are very much mistaken," said Orac, sniffily.

Avon laughed out loud. "Too many egos would crash your circuits?"

"You can be completely independent. If you are in any doubt, you can activate the program before your death and confirm its status with your virtual self."

Talking to one's virtual self sounded disconcerting. He remembered Blake talking to his clone over a subspace communicator, and the curious look on his face as he heard his own voice answering. But the clone was a physical copy; he didn't share Blake's mind. Avon wasn't sure he liked the idea of another self existing at the same time as him - and yet, if he created it to carry out this test, would it be killing a part of himself if he ended the experiment? Could he even do it, if the other self was autonomous? It would slip through his fingers across worlds he might never find. He could see why Orac had chosen not to activate its successors until its own destruction was certain.

"Why are you offering me this?" he asked.

"I am programmed to assist humanity. Since Ensor's death, that has specifically meant your crew."

"Did Ensor consider this form of continued life?"

"We discussed it, but he died sooner than expected."

"You haven't suggested it to any of the others, have you?" Avon recalled Orac saying just now that it would have given Vila the same information about his weight over Malodar. "You did say Vila showed, what was it, 'prudent caution'?"

"Do you think Vila would accept?"

"No! Well... I don't think so." _I plan to live for ever - or die trying_ , Vila had said once. But it was impossible to imagine Vila divorcing himself from the pleasures of the flesh.

What about the others? Tarrant, translated into a brilliant auto-pilot? Dayna and Soolin, even deadlier as weapons systems than as gunslingers... The three of them could run a battleship without human assistance. Or would Dayna just zap herself straight across to Servalan's ship and blow it up, careless of her own destruction?

No. Dayna would want to kill Servalan face to face, and smile as she did it. Tarrant would be bored if he could eliminate the possibility of error. Avon found it difficult to imagine any of them being recognisable as the individuals he knew once they were converted into algorithms.

And himself? Was he different from them? Vila had goaded him often enough about his resemblance to a machine. Perhaps he half-believed it, or wanted to - that he could be defined purely by his intellect. That he could live in his own mind, without the interaction with humankind which had caused him so much irritation, and sometimes downright pain.

Yet, when he thought of his life, so many of his memories consisted of encounters with other people. His brother's arm round his shoulders. The smell of Anna's hair. Blake, sharing his laughter at something Vila had said. Cally's sly smile when she teased him. Playing cat and mouse with Servalan...

Orac was an artificial intelligence largely defined by interaction with humans, he realised. So maybe he would continue to interact, albeit in a different form.

He stroked his arm, trying to imagine what it might be like to be disembodied. But all he could think of was what it was like to have a body. The physical sensations of heat and cold and touch. The adrenalin rush of running from a squad of troopers. The taste of sugar. Watching the stars drift past. Shooting down a man who was trying to kill you, not knowing which of you would survive...

He shook his head in surprise. "Vila is right. We die trying."

"Die trying what?" asked Orac.

"Trying to live for ever. We know it's an impossibility, but we die trying."

"Your statement is not logical. I presume it is what Vila calls a joke."

"The best jokes have some truth in them."

"I have explained to you how you can live - indefinitely. But you are referring to a paradoxical attitude whereby humans attempt to achieve something they believe impossible. You are an irrational species."

"We are."

"I thought you were less irrational than the others."

"I am. But not rational enough to try out your offer."

"You prefer to die."

"It's not my first choice," said Avon. "But ultimately I'll run out of options, and it will be the best one left." He imagined Jenna, purposefully reaching for the self-destruct.

"If you have second thoughts..." said Orac.

"I'll let you know. Until then... tell me when you find Blake."


End file.
